Abraham occupies a central place in salvation history. He is named one hundred and eighty-six times in the Old Testament, and seventy-five in the New Testament. A review of the significant chapters of this history is bound to mention the father of believers. This is what we do every year on the Second Sunday of Lent. After the account of his call (Year A), then his test of faith (Year B), we now have that of the covenant God concludes with him. Again, it is the faith of Abraham and his trust in God that are set in relief: he is childless, yet he “puts his faith in the Lord,” who promises innumerable posterity to him, “Look up at the sky and count the stars….. Just so….. shall your descendants be.”
As always — and even today in the liturgy — the promise and the assurance of marvellous things to come are based on the recollection (anamnesis) of the marvellous things God has already accomplished. The liturgical anamnesis, a profession of faith in God, who is forever and ever; makes present to us what he has done once and for all, the grace of which reaches us today. It is also a profession of hope in God, who cannot forget. Anamnesis, therefore, is something other than a mere remembrance of the past. Likewise, we find in the Bible the word “remember” addressed to the people; the words “I remember,” “I shall remember,” spoken by God when he announces a new intervention in keeping with those of the past.
“How am I to know?” —To this question God always gives the same answer,— “Because I have promised.” And Abraham, overtaken by “a trance,” sees God perform an old rite of covenant making, by passing like “a smoking brazier and a flaming torch” between animals that have been split in two. This ritual is singularly expressive. To walk together between the halves of divided animals was like saying, “Let the one who would betray our covenant undergo the fate of these animals.” But here it is God alone who passes between the divided animals! He would cease to be God, he would die as the victims died if he did not fulfil his promise. God commits himself to the covenant that he himself can never break.
“The birds of prey [that] swooped down on the carcasses” and which Abraham drives away could well represent anything that would thwart the covenant and, more precisely, all that would lead humans to doubt God’s commitment. Abraham is the accomplished model of the man of faith, and therefore of the just man: he drives away these birds of prey. This archaic rite that the Book of Genesis mentions here is of considerable significance for today’s believers. It reminds them that God’s covenant goes back before Sinai. At the same time, it turns their attention to that other “sealing of the covenant”, the supreme guarantee of the promise by which he committed himself entirely and in an unheard-of fashion by delivering his own Son for the salvation of all people. Henceforth, it is the cross that stands among us as the pledge of the covenant. It is the mystery of his passion that the Eucharist celebrates every day and makes present anew. It is toward the cross that the dying turn, at the time of the supreme crisis, so that the birds of prey may go away and that they may commend their spirits to God in peace, who has promised the kingdom to the descendants of Abraham, the father of all believers. Of these we are numbered.
“The Lord is my light and salvation.”
The transfiguration occupies a central literary and theological place in the Gospels of Matthew, Mark and Luke (The Synoptic Gospels). All three versions have about the same number of verses, and there is no notable discrepancy between the three. Each evangelist, however, has his own way of recounting the mystery-event. In their personal styles, we discern characteristics that make us think of other peculiarities, other emphases in their Gospels. We may well expect this to be true of the transfiguration according to Luke, who intends to create an original work in relating events narrated by eyewitnesses.
As on the day of his agony, Jesus takes with him Peter, James, and John, in order to go and pray alone. This time, he leads them “up the mountain.” Luke worries not a bit about precise topography, which is of no interest to his readers anyway. He is more concerned with the symbolism of places than with the possibility of locating them on a map. This applies to “the mountain.” He is not speaking of any hill or of a specific mountain, but of the place to which he would often go to pray. It even seems that “the mountain” is always ready at hand when Jesus seeks solitude for praying. Besides, in his Gospel and Acts, Luke emphasises the importance of prayer. Like that at the baptism, the theophany of the transfiguration takes place while Jesus prays. It seems that the event takes place at night, or at least dusk, because the apostles are “overcome with sleep” while Jesus prays. Again, a point of similitude with Gethsemane. “Becoming fully awake, they saw his glory and the two men standing with him.” These are about to depart; but Peter, desirous to prolong the moment of happiness, wants to set up three tents. “While he was still speaking, a cloud came and cast a shadow over them… Then from the cloud came a voice….. After the voice had spoken, Jesus was found alone,” and the vision fades away. Here, we are reminded of the narrative of the two men going to Emmaus. “Stay with us,” they say and when they recognise him “in the breaking of bread,” they find themselves alone: the vision had vanished. Luke does not mention an order from Jesus, as do Matthew and Mark, but he notes, “They fell silent and did not at that time tell anyone what they had seen.” On the third day after Jesus’ death, there is no reason to keep silence any longer. Nor would the disciples on the road to Emmaus “So they set out at once and returned to Jerusalem” in order to tell the eleven apostles and their companions what had happened on the road and how they had recognised Jesus.
Luke describes the metamorphosis of Jesus with much discretion: “his face changed in appearance and his clothing became dazzling white.” Moses and Elijah themselves are “in glory.” They speak of the exodus of Jesus “that he was going to accomplish in Jerusalem.” The Greek word is exodos. In his discourse at the synagogue of Antioch in Pisidia, Paul uses the same term to say that John the Baptist prepared the “coming” (exodos) of Jesus into the world (Acts 13:24). Entrance into the world, departure from the world, entrance into glory contain a whole Easter symbolism and vocabulary. Besides, the evangelist places the transfiguration just before the great ascent of Jesus to Jerusalem.
According to Luke, Jerusalem is the place where, in his boyhood, Jesus manifested himself by pronouncing his first recorded words, to which he goes up and where he completes his ministry, where he suffers his passion, and where he rises, where he appears alive to the apostles, from where he ascends into heaven, where he sends his Spirit to the first community and where Peter gives his first address, and finally, the point of departure of the mission to all nations. Attentively contemplated, the transfiguration according to Luke opens onto the whole mystery of the Lord who came into this world, rose from the dead, entered into his Father’s glory, and was announced to all nations.
Lent is to be understood, celebrated, and lived, like the transfiguration, in the light of the paschal faith of Christians and the Church on their way to the Easter celebration. Lent is a paschal itinerary, and not just preparation for the Feast; it is a time granted to the Church and to each believer to again purify, renew, and vivify their faith in the resurrection. In the measure in which we resolve to undertake this paschal journey, we shall be able to proclaim during the holy night, “Christ is risen!” We have here a whole concept and practice of Lent, allowing us to give their proper places to penance, reconciliation, and works pertaining to this liturgical time.
From the manger to Easter, the itinerary of Jesus—his exodus—has a twofold character: on the one hand, we have humility, suffering, and death; on the other, light, glory, and life. These latter three are discernible in the former three, if we use the eyes of faith that see through the mystery, thanks to prayer nourished by Scripture. Scripture testifies to the promise God made “to our fathers / to Abraham and to his descendants forever” He would cease to be God if he were not faithful to his promise. The apostles, witnesses of Jesus’ agony in Gethsemane, saw him “on the mountain,” resplendent in glory, as they have seen him, alive, after the resurrection. Therefore, we know with certainty where our path leads us with the people of faith. But this exodus, in the blend of light and darkness of our present life, remains a test. At every moment, we must choose anew for or against Christ’s cross and refuse to be dominated by earthly things, in order to behave like citizens of heaven awaiting “a Saviour, the Lord Jesus Christ. He will change our lowly body to conform with his glorified body by the power that enables him to also bring all things into subjection to himself.”
Lent is a favourable time to look into choices previously made, to correct our itinerary so that we may reach a transfiguration like the one the Son of God chose. The celebration of the Eucharist—mystery of faith—brings the believer farther along the road to Jerusalem, where the Lord shows himself alive to his disciples, whom he fills with the Holy Spirit so that they may go and announce to the world the good news of salvation.
“This is my Son, the Chosen One. Listen to him.”
